Josh and Leo Jump Into The Hole
by Madwoman in the TARDIS
Summary: I should have known! Out of all the people here, I’m the one who should have known something wasn’t right. Sequel to 'Donna Falls Into A Hole.'
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

It was a toss-up between finishing tedious assignments and a research project for my class or working on this story. I decided school comes first. In other words, I am sincerely sorry I did not submit this earlier.

This story is a sequel to _Donna Falls Into A Hole. _

_The West Wing _and all its characters belong to the genius Aaron Sorkin and whomever they belong to at this time.

Sadly, I must commemorate John Spencer's passing, but not in this particular fic. That will come later down the line. For now, Leo McGarry is alive and well.

Thank you to my betas. Muffins and bagels are on me.

_Previously, on _The West Wing …

Office of the White House Chief of Staff

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Morning

"There is an unmarked sedan waiting outside to escort you to Andrews," the President said. "You are going to board a plane headed for Sierra Tucson. …"

"What if I don't?"

Josh answered her question reluctantly. "I'd have to let you go." He ignored her snort. "You can't work here, not while you're like this."

"You know what, Joshua?" She yanked her White House ID badge from her neck and tossed it at her boss. "Screw you!" The sound of the slamming door reverberated throughout the room.

She felt like she was out of her body; it was someone else running down the corridor of the West Wing, someone else the shouts of "Donna!" "Donna, come back here!" were directed at. She wondered briefly if President Bartlet would order the Secret Service to stop her at the door. In all honesty, she could give two shits right now.

They were traitors. They ganged up on her. And for what? She was fine. She was dealing with things in her own way. _They can't touch me. I'm impervious._

**Josh and Leo Jump Into The Hole**

**Chapter I**

Office of the White House Deputy Chief of Staff of Strategic Planning

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Morning

Josh Lyman sat in his office, impatiently waiting for someone to pick up on the other line. He had come _this_ close to yelling Donna's name and asking her to patch through a call from his office. But then he remembered – she was the reason for this particular phone call in the first place.

"Stanley Keyworth," the familiar voice greeted him.

"Stanley, Josh Lyman."

"Josh? Everything okay over there?" He was touched – and a bit confused – by the psychiatrist's immediate concern.

"Not exactly. You missed one helluva party, Stanley."

"Did the Christmas music get to you?" Donna's words echoed in his brain: _I'm supposed to take advice from someone who can't tell the difference between Christmas music and sirens? _

"Believe it or not, this actually has nothing to do with me." _Four years ago, you put your hand through a window, remember? _He made a mental note to check the law archives for any rulings mandating breakdowns of either himself or members of his staff during Christmas. "My assistant developed an addiction to her pain meds," he explained to the therapist. "We had an intervention in CJ's office – didn't go too well."

"Donna?"

He wrapped the phone cord around his arm. "Yeah. Donna."

"Did she ever see anyone after the CODEL explosion?" Stanley inquired.

"I sent her to see one of your ATVA guys. I … I assumed she saw a therapist after. At least, that's what she told me when I asked." _Shit, Josh! She was probably saying "yes" to shut you up._

"Maybe she was able to hide her addictions from her therapist."

"Yeah. Maybe." _But she shouldn't have been able to hide them from me._

"How did you figure out Donna had a drug problem?"

"Margaret."

"Margaret? The redheaded woman I always saw hovering near Leo McGarry's office?"

"Yeah, that's her." Josh let out a chuckle. "She and Donna are pretty close; they kind of took over leading the assistants after Mrs. Landingham died."

"Leo McGarry overcame an addiction to painkillers, right?" Stanley asked.

"Yes."

"I remember seeing the press conference when that story broke. Did Margaret work for him when he was Labor Secretary?"

"She's always been with Leo. The only assistant who'd been with their boss longer was Mrs. Landingham and the President."

"So Margaret knew what to look for."

"Leo came to me yesterday," the Deputy Chief of Staff told the therapist. "Flat out told me Donna had a problem."

"Did you believe him?"

"Not at first," he admitted. "Just because someone's having a nutty doesn't mean they have a drug problem."

"What kind of 'nutty' was she having?"

"She's been moody lately. Irritable. I left a mug on – according to Donna – the wrong side of the desk. I should have known!" Josh blurted out. "Out of all the people here, I'm the one who should have known something wasn't right."

"What about Leo? Isn't he the recovering addict? Shouldn't he have been able to detect the warning signs?"

"He doesn't know Donna like I do."

"From what you've just told me, it sounds like nobody knew Donna these last few months."

"When she first came back to D.C., I made her see one of your ATVA guys. And I promised to keep a close watch on her – and step in _before _she pulled a Josh Lyman and stuck her hand through glass or something."

"Some people are better at hiding it than others." Stanley's attempts at placating his guilt were working miserably.

"She threw her ID tag at me and bolted. We have people looking for her. No one's been able to get a hold of her. Listen, do you think you could sit down with her – when things settle around here?"

"I can't. If I meet with Donna, she might be hesitant to talk with me," he explained. "She might think you're going to hound me with questions."

"But I can't do that – patient-doctor confidentiality."

"That won't stop you from trying."

"Yeah," he admitted.

"I'm going to give you the name of an old colleague of mine," Dr. Keyworth said. "Someone who specializes in treating trauma victims with chemical dependencies."

Streets of Washington, D.C.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Morning

Donna Moss wrapped her arms around her chest and paced down another street. She had no idea where she had wandered; the buildings and signs had ceased to be familiar. A shiver coursed through her body. In her rush to escape "that place," she had accidentally left her jacket on her chair. She trudged through piles of snow, stopping every few minutes to lean against a building or a crosswalk pole. Her rational mind ordered her to go back to the White House and _get your coat before you catch cold. _She pushed the idea out of her head – _I'm never going back _there.

She could hear Grandma Moss's voice in her ear; almost feel the spittle shooting out of the old woman's mouth. _The sins of the father are visited upon the son,_ she hissed.

_I don't believe that,_ Donna shot back.

_Don't you dare be impertinent with me, young lady!_

An angry driver blared his horn. She jumped back on the sidewalk. "Why don't you watch where the hell you're going!" the man shouted.

Donna flicked him the bird and continued walking. The words of her former boss and coworkers kept reverberating in her fogged-up mind: _We're worried about you … violent mood swings … used to have such drive … almost got Charlie killed … over the edge … worried about your health … nothing to be ashamed of … came to me because she cares. _She vaguely remembered snarking about Josh's post-traumatic stress disorder episode from four years prior – in front of the entire senior staff. She had half-expected him to get angry and take the bait. Hell, she _wanted _him to get angry. This was a fight, wasn't it? You were supposed to trade barbs, and if you were lucky, a fist or two. But Josh was nowhere near angry. What was it, exactly? Disappointment? Fear? Worry?

Again, Grandma Moss's incessant criticism: _You were always a disappointment, girl._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:**

See Chapter I. I don't own _The West Wing. _Etcetera.

I attended a training class today for my library. We practiced answering reference interviews. One question was "What is the Joint Chiefs of Staff? I saw it on _West Wing_." I was amused, but I kept my amusement to myself (let's keep people thinking I'm sane, shall we?).

**Josh and Leo Jump Into The Hole**

**Chapter II**

Streets of Washington, D.C.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Afternoon

Donna ducked into a bar and plopped down on a stool at the counter.

"Aren't you cold?" the bartender asked.

She ignored the hefty bald-headed man's attempt at conversation. "What's on tap?" He started listing the available alcoholic beverages, but she wasn't listening. "That's fine, I'll take it," she said abruptly. She wanted – no, she needed – a drink. Actually, she needed to take her pills. Her leg was starting to throb. But her pills were back _there_, along with her coat – and her purse. _Shit! _She could always run back to her apartment, grab some money. But Meredith would be there, preparing the closing argument for her latest trial. Meredith would see her and know something was wrong. She would poke her head in Donna's business. _Didn't you just take that an hour and a half ago? … Are you okay? You're hands are shaking. … It's nine o'clock! You're seriously late. _Donna emphatically told her she was _not my mother – so you damn well better stop acting like it!_

Mr. Clean was talking to her. "Sorry," she mumbled. "You say something?"

"What size?" he repeated, gesturing to various size beer mugs.

"I um, just realized I left my purse at work," she confessed. She high-tailed it out of there before the bartender could say anything. _Damn, coulda really used that beer._

She wished she could just forget the verbal assaults she had endured this morning. Josh calling her _pathetic_. Toby saying she was _an idiot _(the contemplative writer from Brooklyn never had time for idiots). President Bartlet letting her know she was _not worthy of this White House. I never sank as low as you, _Leo had boasted.

Donna sank down on a nearby stoop and hugged herself. _You should be dead, Donnatella Louise. It would be so much better for them._

Office of the White House Deputy Chief of Staff of Strategic Planning

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Afternoon

"Twenty-four hours!" a voice roared. "Do the words 'Senior Assistant to the White House Deputy Chief of Staff is missing' mean anything to you people!"

Leo McGarry poked his head into his protégé's office and waited for him to stop berating the DCPD. When that didn't cease, he grabbed the telephone from his hand. "This is Leo McGarry," he said. "Who am I speaking with?" He shoved Josh's arm away.

"Detective Lonnie Carver."

"We have a White House employee missing," Leo explained.

"According to Mr. Lyman, Ms. Moss left the White House on her own accord. Have you tried calling her house?"

"She's on the edge," he told the detective. "We need to find her."

"Maybe she went for a walk," Detective Carver suggested. "Or stopped by a friend's. Have you tried calling her?"

"She left without taking her things." Leo debated whether or not to tell the man about Donna's suspected drug abuse. During Jed Bartlet's first term in office, Danny Concannon learned about the arrest of a senator's son and friend of Zoey via a police scanner in his car. How many other reporters had the same machines in their vehicles? The last thing the White House needed – the last thing he and Donna needed – was another drug addiction scandal. _For Christ sakes, McGarry. The last thing you need is that girl to end up in a gutter._

"Did you consider checking the grounds of the White House?"

"Yes! We checked her cubicle, we checked all the rooms and supply closets in the West Wing, we checked the East Wing," he yelled. "We checked the Rose Garden. Hell, we even checked the Steamtrunk Pipe Distribution Venue! You want us to check the roof?" He realized that his voice was rising when he saw Margaret and Ginger peering anxiously at him from just outside Josh's office. He lowered his volume. "We think – we think she might be on the verge of a breakdown."

"I'm sorry, Mr. McGarry. There's nothing we can do."

"Yeah, thanks for your help," he grumbled sarcastically before slamming down the receiver.

"'On the verge of a breakdown?'" Josh asked. "Come on, Leo, she's more than that and you know it."

Leo shut the door, then pulled a chair up to the younger man's desk. "I couldn't tell the detective about Donna's drug problem."

"Why not? Maybe they'd get up off their asses and start looking for her!" He shoved the telephone towards his former boss. "Call Carver back."

Leo pushed the phone back towards Josh. "Do you want the press to get wind of Donna's addiction or – even better – her outburst in front of the senior staff?" Josh glanced down at his unkempt desk. "Have you any idea what that could do to her? She can't handle .."

"She'd break," Josh whispered. He stood up and picked up the receiver. "I'm gonna make some calls."

Streets of Washington, D.C.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Afternoon

Donna perused the list of apartment numbers until she found what she was looking for. _A. Boatwright. 3B._ Adam had been one of many in what J- that bastard had deemed "a gomer." She couldn't get back _there_ without any identification; said ID was on her desk. They would have to call _him. _Couldn't go to her apartment – Meredith would be there. Anywhere she could think of to go would be filled with people asking questions, poking their noses into her business, reminding her how pathetic she was. Adam wouldn't interrogate her. Maybe she could bum a drink off of him. And besides, she was pretty sure she'd left her coat last time she was here.

She clenched and unclenched her fists in a futile attempt to get the blood flowing. _Can't feel my fingers. _She pressed her fingers against the button next to _3B. _"Adam?" she called out. "Clare?" Gomer #510: You learn he's married after the third date. Josh wants to kill him even worse than you.

A female voice cackled over the intercom. "Yeah?"

"Clare, it's Donna Moss. Can I …"

"He's not here," the woman dismissed her.

"I think I left my jacket last time I was here," she explained. "I just want to get it and go. That's all."

"He'll mail it to you," was Mrs. Boatwright's curt reply. _Homewrecker. Bitch. Colossal waste of the universe's time._

"No!" Donna screamed. "It's fucking freezing out here. Let me get my damn coat, bitch!" She threw her body weight against the door. Finally, she heard the buzz and pulled the door open. She trudged her snow-clad heels up the steps until she reached the third floor.

And hoped nobody matched the shell fragments in Josh's skull to the bullets from her gun.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:**

Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, NBC, etc. own _The West Wing _and all recognized characters.

Thanks again to my betas, Megan and Bex.

I'm going to watch _Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip_ next Monday. Aaron Sorkin show … Bradley Whitford … Matthew Perry … Timothy Busfield … might as well check it out. Should be interesting – and maybe placate those going through serious _West Wing _withdrawal. We shall see …

_Previously, on _The West Wing …

Office of the White House Chief of Staff

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Morning

"You drove under the influence," the president accused Donna. "It's bad enough you almost got yourself killed – you almost got Charlie killed, too."

"What are you talking about?"

"You became paranoid and starting weaving in and out of traffic," Bartlet said. "You thought Josh was chasing you so he could murder you."

Charlie's mouth dropped open. "Sir? When did you …"

The president waved his hand to silence the young man. "When I catch my former body man shaking like a leaf and dry heaving into a potted plant in the Oval Office, I tend to want to make inquiries." He shook his head. "The fact that you thought you had to lie to me about it – that's something you and I will have to discuss at a later date." He turned his attention back to Donna. "I already lost one person to someone driving under the influence. Please don't make me lose any more."

**Josh and Leo Jump Into The Hole**

**Chapter III**

Apartment of Donnatella Moss

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Afternoon

Joshua Lyman, White House Deputy Chief of Staff of Strategic Planning, should have been devising rebuttals to the Republicans' proposed tax plan. He should have been mocking the assistants' attempts at Christmas carols, or any duties his job title actually entailed. Instead, he was sitting in the kitchen of his assistant's apartment, warming his hands on a cup of coffee.

"Are you sure Donna hasn't come back to the apartment?" he asked Meredith Jergen. He'd stopped by every bar he knew she frequented, the Lincoln Memorial, the Mall, any monument or store she might have ducked into. No luck – the Donna he was searching for wasn't the Donna he used to know.

"I'm sure," the lawyer replied.

He took a sip of his coffee. "She didn't drop off anything, leave any papers, her bags, toast a bagel …"

"I've been home all day," she said. "I had a briefing to prepare."

"So you didn't see her?" Meredith shook her head. "You never stepped outside? Maybe ran to Starbucks? Pick up a _Wall Street Journal_?"

"Like I said, I've been home all day. If she stopped by here, I'd have seen her."

"Maybe you didn't notice she was here," Josh suggested.

"Donna has never come home before eight," she said, an obvious jab at the late hours her roommate's overbearing boss forced upon her. Josh let the comment slide. "Why are you asking me this?" Her eyes narrowed. "Is Donna in some kind of trouble?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned towards Meredith. "I don't know, how about you tell me?"

"She's been off lately," Donna's roommate admitted. "Has these mood swings." She paused, almost afraid to continue until Josh prodded her. "I think she's overmedicating."

He followed her into the bathroom. Four bottles of Vicodin, all from different doctors and emergency rooms in DC and the surrounding area. One bottle especially caught his attention: this one was filled on December 14, with a month's supply; it was more than half empty. "Shit!" he breathed. _How the hell did we let it get this bad? _"You ever talk to her?"

"Of course I did," Meredith said indignantly. "She keeps brushing me off. Screams at me to mind my own damn business."

"We had an intervention at the White House today," Josh confessed.

"Let me guess: she cursed you out and ran?" He nodded. "What the hell did you think would happen? Think she'd break down and run into your outstretched arms?"

_No, that's for another time. _"We don't know where she is." He examined her other medications – these were just as bad as the Vicodin.

"When was the intervention?"

"This morning," he said, twirling a bottle of Percocet in his hand.

"Did you call the police?"

"She's an adult. She's not mentally ill or anything like that. They're not going to do a serious search with less than twenty-four hours missing."

"And let me guess – you want this kept hush-hush?" Meredith took the medicine bottles and replaced them on the shelf. "Keep bad press away from Bartlet and the White House?"

He bristled at the idea that that was all they cared about, but realized she was, in a way, correct. "We care about Donna," he said.

"'We?' Or you?"

"Both," he admitted sheepishly. "I hate seeing her in pain like this."

"You like her."

"She's my best friend."

"No, Mr. Lyman, you **like **her." She snorted at his apparently deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. "Oh come on. Who do you think bears the brunt of her 'slave driver boss' complaints? I keep telling her, "Donna, he's either a sadistic man who wants to work you to death or he has a schoolboy crush on you and wants to keep you in his sight. And based on how red your face is, I'd say the latter."

"So you haven't seen her?" he asked, attempting to change the subject back to far more important matters.

"No, I haven't." She led him out of the bathroom and back to the kitchen. "I'm betting you've already started your own search party?" He listed the names of all the places he'd thought to look, all the dead-end routes he'd taken. "Since you obviously like to sabotage her social life when you know her plans, she has a few places you don't know about. I'll look into the places you haven't thought to search yet."

"What about your briefing?"

"I was planning on staying up until 2 am anyway."

As he left the apartment, a thought occurred to him. "Where are the cats?"

"Under my bed. As soon as they heard your voice, they hightailed it out of there."

Oval Office

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Late Afternoon

"You kept insisting the chicken cacciatore in the cafeteria was bad," the President told his Personal Aide. He had been trying to study his notes for the speech he was to give next week at Independence Hall. Unfortunately, the knowledge that people he thought of as his children were suffering made it extremely difficult to concentrate. He finally decided to have that conversation with Charlie. "If it was really the chicken, you wouldn't have been the only person to be afflicted by salmonella. Ginger and Ainsley ate the same food you did. Did they fall ill?"

"No, sir."

"My sentiments exactly."

"What did you do? Have the Secret Service test the cacciatore? Find out I was lying?"

"How many times do I have to say it, Charlie? I'm the leader of the free world. I have eyes and ears …"

"Debbie."

President Bartlet gave the young man a wry grin. "Who else? What I don't understand is why you would even think about hiding something like that. You could have been killed." _Debbie, is Charlie all right? … Yes, Mr. President. Why do you ask? … I just caught him dry heaving into the plants. … He's a little shaken up, sir. … Why is Charlie shaken up? _His Executive Secretary had not wanted to answer the question. _Debbie, do you know who I am? I happen to be the leader of …He was riding in a car that Donna Moss was driving. … I know what they say about women drivers, but Debbie … Apparently she was dangerously erratic. … Charlie beg you not to say anything to me? … Yes, Mr. President. _"You could have been killed," he repeated.

"You think I'm not aware of that, sir?"

"You didn't want to worry me," he suddenly realized.

"And I didn't want to get Donna in trouble." He nodded at somebody standing in the doorway between the Oval Office and the Office of the Chief of Staff. "Sir, if I had any idea she was abusing her medicine, I would have told someone about the ride."

"You would have come forward. I know, Charlie. But you still should have said someth…" He broke off his train of thought when he caught a glimpse of the grim expression on his best friend's face. "Leo?"

CJ spoke for the both of them. "We just received a telephone call from the DCPD. They found a body near the Lincoln Memorial."

Leo added the worst part: "It was a young woman, fitting Donna's description."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:**

Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, NBC, etc. own _The West Wing _and all recognized characters.

Thanks again to my betas, Megan and Bex.

Warning: description of dead body might be too graphic. And Donna uses foul language. But she's unspooling, so what else is new.

_Previously, on _The West Wing …

Oval Office

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Late Afternoon

CJ: "We just received a telephone call from the DCPD. They found a body near the Lincoln Memorial."

Leo added the worst part: "It was a young woman, fitting Donna's description."

**Josh and Leo Jump Into The Hole**

**Chapter IV**

Oval Office

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Late Afternoon

"I have Josh on line 3," Debbie Fiderer announced from the next room.

Leo lifted up the receiver on the President's desk. _Why does this thing always seem to weigh more when you have to be the bearer of bad news?_ "Josh, it's Leo."

"Leo, hey. Any luck on your end?"

"Josh …"

"I've got Donna's roommate canvassing the neighborhood. She's gonna make some calls."

"Detective Carver called."

"Took him long enough."

"They found a body near the Lincoln Memorial." He swallowed the bile threatening to rise in his throat. "A young woman with long blonde hair. Someone beat her to death."

"Donna?" He could hear a strangled sob on the other end.

"I'm heading to the morgue right now to identify the body." _That girl's last moments … fearing for her life … thinking she had nobody. Dear God! I never wanted this for her. For any of us._

"No, it should be me," he said quietly.

"I can do it," Leo assured Josh. "Detective Carter said the woman took a nasty beating. It's not gonna be a pretty sight. You don't have to …"

"No," Josh spoke up. "It has to be me."

There was silence on the other end of the telephone. Leo was afraid the younger man had disconnected the call until: "Could you come with me?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, kid."

Washington, DC Morgue

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Late Afternoon

"Josh, sit down," Leo McGarry ordered his former deputy. He hadn't wanted the man to come to the morgue with him, but had quickly learned any attempts to keep said man away would have been futile. He couldn't help noticing how much Josh seemed to have aged in the last eight hours. His posture was slouched, his demeanor ragged. And his eyes were filled with a pain Leo had never seen the likes of before. He had witnessed Josh hurt after Joanie, after his father, after the shooting, even that Christmas when he'd been forced to lock him in a room with a trauma therapist. But none of those times compared to the agony the man went through when it came to Donna Moss. He tried to recall Josh ever advocating the killing of all white supremacists and "everyone who was happy about" the shootings. Nothing came to mind. It was slowly dawning on Leo that he was witnessing Joshua Lyman at his most unbearable pain. And it hurt that there was nothing he could do to make it go away.

"Mr. Lyman?" A man in blue scrubs announced. Josh and Leo stood up. "We're ready for you."

The two men shuffled into one of the most dreaded rooms in the city. Leo averted his eyes from the rows upon rows of bodies that were – thankfully – hidden under pale blue sheets. He couldn't help noticing how appropriate the freezing temperature was.

"When you give me the go-ahead, I'll pull down the sheet," the man explained. "I'm just going to show you her face. Let me know if you recognize your colleague."

_She's _more _than a 'colleague,'_ Leo thought bitterly and waited for the man to reveal the victim's face.

Josh and Leo winced at the view in front of them. The dead woman's left eye was puffed up, her nose looked broken, and her lip had been split. Leo could see blood where her assailant had no doubt crushed her skull. Josh gasped and grabbed Leo's arm for support. Suddenly, he broke into a grin and made a noise that was a cross between crying and laughter. _I'm calling Stanley right now,_ Leo decided. That was until he heard the best news he'd gotten all day:

"It's not her! Oh god, Leo – that's not Donna."

Park in Washington, D.C.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Late Afternoon/ Early Evening

Donna blew on her icy fingers and shoved them into her pockets. Her teeth were chattering and her blonde hair was blowing into her face, which was no doubt flushed. She had gotten her winter coat back from Adam, but it had done little to keep her from freezing. _You need to go somewhere warm. Admit it, you lost._

She limped past a group of teenagers having a snowball fight. A memory came to her, of the curly-haired tyrant throwing snowballs at her window with his gang – a nervous speechwriter (how different from the cocky VP lackey he is today), a young man mourning a failed relationship, and a journalist who was having too much fun to print the shenanigans in the next day's _Post._

_You look amazing, Donna. _She shook her head. "No I don't," she muttered, forcing the happy Josh memory out of her mind. She was not in the mood for happy Josh memories. One of the punks turned to stare at her; she just gave him the finger and hobbled on her way. _Going somewhere, Donna?_

She wanted to go back to the White House, retrieve her purse. Or go home and crash on her bed. Just as long as there were no human beings around. She wished all the people would vanish into thin air. She wished she had her Vicodin. Her leg was throbbing, she felt nauseous – _No, your leg hurts because you've been walking so much and you feel like shit 'cause you haven't really eaten today._ Those people had the audacity to call her a drug addict. _Don't listen to them! You're not an addict. You're doing fine without the pills, aren't you? Tell them to fuck off. _She sank down onto the nearest bench and tried to catch her breath.

_If you were in an accident, I wouldn't stop for a beer. _

_If you were in an accident, I wouldn't stop for red lights. _

He hadn't stopped for a beer … or red lights, as far as she knew. _There are no red lights when you're on a plane, stupid. … He didn't shower for three days. Came right to you. Dropped everything in the middle of a national catastrophe to rush to your side. … It was the guilt. He sent me to a war zone. Can't function without his little blonde bitch. Had to do something to pass the time. … Why'd he spend all that money to fly to Europe? If he wanted to pass the time, he could have helped with the Peace Summit. … He should have. I would have been fine without him. … Would he have been fine without you? _

_How long are you here?_

_I'm here as long as you need me. _

Donna wrapped her arms around her waist and rocked back and forth. Wind and snow slapped her cheeks and stung her eyes. _Well, I don't need you, Josh. _She could feel her eyes getting moist and stubbornly blinked back the threatening tears. _I don't need anyone._

From _17 People_

From _Memorial Day/ Gaza_


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes:**

Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, NBC, etc. own _The West Wing _and all recognized characters.

Sorry for the long wait. Between schoolwork and living in a hotel for a month while our house was being fixed, I didn't have much access to my West Wing fanfic.

Unless my betas recommend another part, this should be my next-to-last chapter.

Thanks again to my betas, Megan and Bex.

**Josh and Leo Jump Into The Hole**

**Chapter V**

Apartment of Joshua Lyman

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Evening

Josh handed his mentor and former boss a club soda and grabbed a Heineken for himself. He bit into his slice of pizza and forced himself to swallow it down. Donna, the person who should be sitting across from him at this very moment, sharing pizza and beer, was still MIA. It was going on twelve hours. There wasn't any word to adequately describe the feeling Josh had when he realized the body in the morgue wasn't her. He was still shaken up about the what-ifs. "Why didn't we notice anything?" he suddenly asked Leo.

The older man didn't flinch, just stared him straight in the eye. "Who wants to notice these things? You want to believe she's doing good, so that means she has to be okay."

"But she's not okay," Josh reminded him. "She was miserable."

You know that now." Leo leaned forward in his chair.

"But I should have figured it out sooner."

"You're not a mind reader."

"I'm supposed to be her friend. I told myself to pay attention, see if I recognized any signs she was over the edge. They were staring me right in the face, and I didn't see them. How the hell could I have let this happen?"

"Moping around whining about all the coulda-woulda-shouldas isn't going to do anyone any good," Leo said. "Should you have noticed that girl was in trouble? Yes. We all should have. She's not gonna get any less unstable by us sweeping it under some rug. Hell, if we're gonna continue this pity party, you mind if I join in? I'm the recovering drug addict. I should have recognized the signs."

"You were recovering from a massive heart attack," Josh reminded his ex-boss. "You didn't see her every day like I did." He rubbed a hand across his neck. "I know her better than anyone. At least, I thought I did. I should have …"

"But you didn't!" Leo interrupted. "You were doing what you're supposed to be doing – helping to run the country. And you had other things on your mind. You nearly lose yet another person you care about, then I almost kick the bucket. Now you gotta adjust to a whole new boss, a whole new ballgame."

"That's no excuse."

Leo stood up and stretched. "Exactly. Stop the guilt trip already. It's not doing anybody any good." He softened his tone. "Don't worry, kid. We'll find her. And we'll make sure she gets the help she needs."

Streets of Washington, D.C.

Friday, December 24, 2004

Early Morning

Donna wrinkled her nose and tried to block the stench coming from the next bench over. The woman stretched across it had obviously not seen a shower in months, if not years. Her clothes were faded and full of holes, and her dirty blonde hair was tangled and matted. The tattered blanket spread over her torso barely provided any warmth.

_That could be you, you know_. Donna squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to shut off her annoying conscience. _No, it's not_, she argued. The other woman had the telltale scars of a heroin addict.

Even her conscience was against her today. _You need serious help. You want to end up like _her

She drew her knees up to her chest and huddled against the end of the bench farthest away from the homeless woman. _You're wrong_. _I'll never be like her. _

Even as she tried convincing herself of this, her conscience kept saying otherwise. _She's got nobody. Poor woman is all alone._

_I'm not her_, Donna retorted. _I have – I had … _Images of hurt faces took shape in her foggy brain, along with faint echoes of ugly insults screamed at people who meant the world to her. The clearest image – and the one she wished she could forget – was Josh Lyman. _I'm supposed to take advice from a man who can't tell the difference between Christmas music and sirens?_ _You're just jealous because I found a way to deal and _you_ didn't._

Donna felt nauseous and dizzy and had the shakes. Even though snow stung her cheeks, sweat trickled down her face and neck. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the feeling would pass quickly. The woman on the other bench started mumbling incoherently in her sleep. Donna tried to recall how many people froze to death in the United States last winter. Her mind was coming up blank, but she was sure her "neighbor" would eventually become one of those statistics.

_Not me. I can't end up like that._

_You need help. How many times do we have to tell you?_

She didn't argue this time. She stood up – albeit unsteadily – and stretched out the kinks in her muscles. There was the chance he would laugh and slam the door in her face. Not that she could blame him. She wasn't sure what curses she had yelled back then, but she could imagine. _He's the only one who will understand._

For the first time since yesterday morning, Donnatella Moss walked with a purpose.

But her leg was still killing her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes:**

Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, NBC, etc. own _The West Wing _and all recognized characters.

I've never been to Sierra Tucson, or the Watergate Hotel. My only claim to Watergate is I was born on the 10th anniversary of the Watergate break-in (that's all my mom heard on the radio going to the hospital). For all I know, Watergate is _not _Leo's hotel and there is no 9th floor, and Room 151 at Sierra Tucson is either a man's room or doesn't even exist. This is fiction, after all.

_A man falls into a hole _is from the episode "Noel" from the 2nd season of _The West Wing_.

Thanks again to my betas, Megan and Bex.

**Josh and Leo Jump Into The Hole**

**Chapter VI**

Watergate Hotel

Room 903 – Leo McGarry

Friday, December 24, 2004

Early Morning

It took Leo McGarry a full six minutes to realize the pounding he heard was actually the door to his hotel suite and not part of whatever dream he was currently having.

It had been a long and tiring day. After the intervention in CJ's office – what used to be _his_ office – Donna had stormed out. Josh had tried calling her apartment, but her roommate said she hadn't seen her all day. They searched the usual places, but the DC police wouldn't consider her "missing" before a full 24 hours were up (never mind the fact that she was Senior Assistant to the White House Deputy Chief of Staff). Josh had been worried sick – hell, they all were – so when midnight rolled around, Leo had ordered his former deputy to hit the sack. _She has to admit she's got a problem before she can get help_, he had told Josh. What if she never admits it? Josh had responded. _Sometimes, you have to fall pretty hard and deep before you can begin the climb up._ He eventually decided to follow his own advice and fell into a restless sleep.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 2:13 am. That meant he had gotten less than one hour of sleep. He willed whoever was knocking at the door to leave him alone, but he knew that as the former Chief of Staff to the President of the United States, you had to take calls seriously – even ones in the middle of the night. He dragged himself to the door and peered out the peephole. As soon as he saw Donna Moss, he threw open the door.

"I – I'm sorry, I shouldn't be here," she mumbled and turned to leave.

"Donna, wait," he called after her. "Come inside." She reluctantly complied and proceeded to wear a hole in the foyer's carpet with her pacing. He noticed she had been crying and she couldn't stop her hands from shaking.

"Sorry I put you through all that," she said to the ground. "I went for a walk. I thought it would clear my mind, but then I got lost and had to retrace my steps but of course I had no idea where I was so I figured I should just keep wandering and see where I ended up. It helps, you know – walking. You think about stuff you don't get the chance to think about during the day. When you walk at night, I mean. I know it's not safe, so please don't tell Josh about it, but it's the only thing keeping me sane right now."

It was common knowledge that when Donnatella Moss was excited or nervous, she tended to ramble. He decided to let her vent; right now, she needed someone to listen to her. At this moment, she was neither excited nor nervous. The expression in her eyes – in her entire body – was one he was all too familiar with. It was one of defeat mixed with the fear that life was ending and you were truly alone. He'd seen it before nearly a decade ago – in himself.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you." She swallowed hard, trying to blink back the tears threatening to overtake her. "I really don't know what I'm gonna do. Maybe get away for a while, but I really don't want to go back to Wisconsin. After being here, nothing compares. My leg hurts like hell, but I haven't taken anything. I swear, Leo. I haven't taken anything and I'm not going to …" Her monologue was interrupted by a pair of arms gathering her into a hug.

Watergate Hotel

Room 903 – Leo McGarry

Friday, December 24, 2004

Early Afternoon

Josh held Donna's hair away from her face and stroked her back while she vomited for the fourth time this hour. "Easy," he coaxed. "Just take it easy."

"You don't have to be here," she said. It was the first thing she'd said to him since yesterday morning.

"Yes, I do," he retorted.

Her skin was clammy yet she was drenched in sweat. She'd spent the morning shaking on Leo's bed and writhing in pain. _She's detoxing_, Leo had explained. _This is gonna be the hardest part. It's gonna hurt you almost as much as it hurts her. _And all Josh could do was watch.

He'd only gone home because Leo had just about ordered him to. He'd crawled into bed for the same reason. No one had ever said anything about Joshua Lyman actually sleeping, though. Not when Donna's safety – her sanity – was concerned. He'd always felt confident that Donna would come to him first if she had any problems. After yesterday, he wasn't sure anymore.

Donna leaned against Josh's chest and sucked in air.

"You done for now?" he asked. She nodded. He wrapped one arm around her middle and helped her walk back to Leo's bed.

Leo poked his head into the room. "You have a phone call, kid," he told Josh.

Josh made sure Donna was comfortable and went over to his former boss. "Yeah?" His eyes never left the woman on the bed.

"Stanley," Leo said in a low voice. "Take it in the kitchen. I'll keep an eye on things here."

"I thought you were going to call me, Josh," Dr. Keyworth said when Josh picked up the phone.

He ignored the therapist. "We found Donna. Leo found her. She came to Leo."

"Are you upset?"

"Why would I be upset?"

"She went to Leo first, not you."

"Leo's the former drug addict. She's an addict. I'm just someone who lost his mind and put his hand through a window pane."

"_Almost_ lost his mind. You were getting there, but not quite."

"Gee, thanks." He craned his neck to see into Leo's bedroom. Leo had said he'd take care of Donna, but he just had to check. Satisfied for the time being, he turned his attention back to Stanley. "She always came to me in the past. I think we're losing our flow."

"But at least she went somewhere safe, right?"

"She should have come to me!"

"Prince Josh to the rescue?"

"Y-No!" Josh protested a bit too emphatically.

"Do you know why Donna didn't come to you?"

"I'm not in the mood for guessing games, Stanley."

"Neither am I. I just asked you a question."

Josh rubbed the back of his neck. "How should I know? Listen, I should get back to …"

"I understand. You're trying to avoid the issue."

"No. I know you don't believe me, but I need to get back to Donna. I don't want to leave her alone right now."

"Isn't Leo with her?"

"Yes, but …"

"It's fine. Go. I'll talk to you later."

Sierra Tucson

Room 151 – Donnatella Moss

Tucson, Arizona

Saturday, December 25, 2004

Late Afternoon/Early Evening

"Bed looks comfortable," Josh said. "And look – a desk to write on."

Nurse Ratched poked her head in the door. "Dinnertime."

"When you get back to your room, give me a call," Josh told Donna.

"She can't have contact with us for two weeks," Leo reminded him.

"Can we have ten minutes?" Josh asked the nurse.

"Five," she allowed and stepped out of the room.

Leo gave Donna a hug. "You'll get through this," he promised her. She wasn't so sure she could believe him.

Once they were alone, Josh patted the bed. "Sit down," he ordered. Once she got comfortable, he began talking. "There was this man, and one day he went out walking. All of sudden, he fell …"

"He fell into a hole," she interrupted. "Josh, I know the story. Leo told it to you when you had your nutty."

"Yeah, well, maybe you need to hear it again." He continued. "He falls into a great big hole. It's too wide and steep, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't climb out. A doctor walks by. The man shouts, 'Hey, doc! I fell into a hole. Can you help me out?' The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down, and moves on. Then, a priest walks by. The man calls out, 'Father! Father! I've fallen into a hole and I can't get out. Can you help me?' The priest throws down a prayer and continues on. A while later, a friend walks by. The man calls out, 'Hey, Joe! Can you help me out of this hole?' The friend …"

"The friend jumps into the hole. 'Now we're both down here!' Josh, how many times do I have to tell you? I know the damn story!"

"The friend jumps into the hole," he repeated. "Our guy says, 'Are you crazy? Now we're both down here.' The friend says, 'Yes, but I've been down here before. And I know the way out.'"

"Dinnertime," the nurse announced. "You need to leave now," she told Josh. Donna glared at her boss. _I can't believe you're leaving me with _her.

Josh squeezed her hand, then changed his mind and enveloped her in a hug. "I'm still here," he whispered fiercely. "And I'm not going anywhere."

To be continued in _Donna Climbs Out Of The Hole …_


End file.
